So I wrote this last year, but recently I was looking over it and was not happy with a majority of it, some I've cut some sections, re-wrote some stuff and added in a few more bits. I hope you like it.
Words don't come easy do they? You can tell when you feel a certain way; it creeps up in your gut, in every thought, it courses through your blood, but how do you express these emotions that are so raw, you can hardly understand them yourself?
Your breath is shallow and your vision is blurred. The images that flash in your mind are always there. Consuming you. Tormenting you. They are reminding you of what you could've had. Of what could've been.
You shudder and act as though nothing happened. You weren't just imagining the life you wanted to lead. You take a step back and look at what you do have. A home, money, food, water. All your basic needs are being fulfilled, but that's not what makes your stomach flurry and brings the crease of a smile to your cheeks.
You may have what many people in the world lack, but at the end of the day you know that you can never be happy without him.
You have no will to get up in the morning because you know he won't be there, lying next to you in a peaceful slumber. His body warmth won't be emitted, heating you up. His golden skin won't be glowing, and his long dark eyelashes won't be fluttering. His cheeks won't blush. He won't stir, turn over and with heavy-lidded eyes look up at you like you are his everything. He won't press up to you, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by a cold breeze gusting through the open window. He won't mumble something unconsciously into your chest. He won't take your arm, wrap it around himself. He won't close the distance between you. You won't mold into one.
You are alone. He is not there. He is with someone else. Blessing them with his presence. Shining them his cheeky smile, making them laugh at his ridiculous jokes, laughing at theirs.
You had your chance and you bottled it. The hard man exterior was all an act. The moment there was the chance of vulnerability you couldn't deal. You had to escape as a pressure started weighing heavy on you. When he grazed his hand over yours in that club. His skin felt soft but electric. You felt your lungs starting to constrict. All you wanted to do was bolt. Take off into the night and never be seen again. So you did. You went back home, where he wasn't. You needed to breathe.
You left him, but you knew he would keep coming back; he always came back to you. And he did. But you kept hurting him. You couldn't deal with the constant itch you had. He was the only one who knew of this itch. It made you weak and vulnerable. You made him bleed to keep him silenced. He got under your skin like no one ever had before. You needed him more than you needed air and that scared you unimaginably. You couldn't bare to spend a day without seeing him. But when he said those things. Made you feel that way. You couldn't handle it. You broke him down until he felt like he was useless.
He left. Said he'd never go back to you. You were the past. You were nothing to him anymore. The only thing you saw in his eyes, which used to shimmer like diamonds, was now hatred. A beady, black, all-consuming darkness.
But even when he looked at you like you were worthless, you still got that feeling. Like you needed him to be next to you. You needed him to be safe. You wanted him to want you like there was no one else in the world.
Then you ended up in a fucked up situation. You were stuck in the place feared by everyone. You were alone. Every day locked in a fucking cell. You knew you should've been in that cell years ago when you started dealing the white, or even when you took a hammer to a guy's head, but this… You didn't deserve to be here for this. And every single fucking person you thought knew you was doubting you. He doubted you. Of all the people in the world, you had always thought that maybe he was the one person who had seen something good in you. Not the bitter, nasty person that everyone else saw. But apparently he didn't.
Time was your best friend and your worst enemy. All you really had was a book to read and your mind. Your mind that kept on wandering off to that same damned place. That repetitive image. Him. Always him. No matter how much you tried to stop thinking about him, you couldn't. He was engraved into your tombstone.
You got out eventually. The bastard who'd framed you had finally been caught and you were free to live your life. Except you knew you weren't really. The bars were gone, but you still felt caged in. People kept wanting things off of you. You didn't have time to deal with them. They weren't worth your precious time. Not a single one of them.
Then one day you saw him. Bumped into him actually. He was gorgeous. Lashes long. Eyes open and questioning. You could almost taste him on your lips. You wanted to pull him to you and hold on tight. But you couldn't. He wasn't yours anymore. And if being locked away without any visits from him didn't confirm that, nothing could.
Instead you pushed him away. You sacked him and kissed someone else in front of him. You had a reputation to uphold and he wasn't going to keep you back. Not when he obviously didn't care.
He went his separate way and did whatever the hell he did. You didn't care anymore, and you kept telling yourself that. You kept trying to convince yourself that he didn't matter. He was just another fuck and he meant nothing. But that same image kept coming back. All the good times you'd had with him. The way he'd grin after you'd teased him, the way you held him tightly when he felt broken, the way he'd stare at you longingly in the nightclub.
But people come and people go. You started dealing with all this other shit. Anything to distract from him. You didn't care for him anymore. He was just a nuisance. An irritation that always seemed to be buzzing around. Like a fly around a rubbish bin.
Until one day you saw that little twat you'd taken under your wing to guide push him down, a bottle of cheap wine shattering and spilling all over him. You saw red. You couldn't breathe properly and all you could think of was beating the kid. The kid came back, all proud and happy about his "achievements". Before you could stop yourself you had his arm twisted around his back and you were threatening him. He was a worthless sack of shit if he ever dared to touch a single hair on his head. Then the kid said what you knew was true: he couldn't even stand the sight of you.
You went round to his flat to see if he was okay. He needed to be okay. No one should ever hurt him again. You found out that he was going to the bank. He needed a loan to open up his own little deli. You were shocked to see how much he'd changed. Not necessarily physically, but you'd never thought you'd see the day where he would try to open his own business. He was bright in his own ways. And cheeky. He could do it. You were sure of it. But you'd never tell him that.
You found out he was having problems getting a loan. He had a criminal record and banks didn't like that. You remembered when he'd told you about jail. That was a long time ago. Long before all of this got so fucked up.
He needed to succeed. You wanted him to succeed so you offered to loan the money. You had spare cash lying around and he was the only person you'd really be willing to loan the money to. After everything you'd done. He deserved to be happy. And if being happy meant getting a loan to open up his own business, then you'd step up and give him that goddamn loan. But he refused. He refused to take anything off you. He didn't want anything to do with you. You were still that same old fucked up person, who he didn't want to owe anything to.
Instead of letting it go, you kept at it. Went to his business partner. You'd had some past in business with him, so you knew he'd eventually crack. And just like you had predicted, he did. They opened up the business and it seemed like he was beginning to finally be happy again.
Except it didn't turn out just as you thought it would.
You found out that there was someone else. He had moved on and you were completely out of the picture.
But soon that didn't even matter, because this new person had fucked up and there you were, trying to patch the situation up. You tried to be the knight in shining armour. You tried to show him that you were willing to try. You wanted to change. You wanted him to be there with you through the struggle. You didn't expect him to give in that easily, but he did. You should've known all along, but the slightest bit of hope refrained you from thinking straight.
You kissed him in front of everyone you knew, to prove he was yours. This was the second time you had done that. The first time had only led to despair and purple bruises, which highlighted the pain you'd caused him.
His lips felt soft and submissive against yours, but there was something else there. Something you couldn't put your finger on. You shrugged it off, knowing that it would be best not to know. What was it they say, "ignorance is bliss"? Yeah, that's what you wanted.
He got you to sign that little deli over to him completely. He was giving you a chance, you had to give him one as well. The solicitor left, and it was just you two in that club. Where it had all started. You wanted him then. It had been so long. You needed him close to you. You kneeled on the coffee table, not really caring if you were too heavy for the thing. You placed your hands delicately on the table, your palms sweaty, but unmoving, and you leaned forward. Your lips touched his and you felt an immediate pull towards him. You wanted to take him right there. Push him back onto the couch and prove to him that he'd missed out on you. Touch him in the right places, press the right spots, do the right things.
But he pulled away, said he had to get off quickly. He had a business to run. You should've gotten the hint. He'd never been able to say no before. Was he doubting that you could do it? Did he think that you weren't strong enough to stick it out? You weren't surprised considering your past and all the times you'd bolted. But this was it. You had him now. After so long. You needed to be with him the very instant. You needed him to smile and laugh like he did on the night of your first kiss. You needed him to stick his chin out and make some snide, cocky joke, knowing that no matter what he said, you wouldn't be bothered. You needed it to be just you and him, becoming familiar with each other's bodies once again.
You felt an odd pull in your stomach just thinking about what you'd be doing with him later. But then you got home and saw that red envelope, tucked under your blue door. A feeling of foreboding took over as you picked it up. You were dreading opening it. You ripped it open. It smelled of him. Your eyes darted over the words. They pierced your gut.
Vicious. Harmful. Poisonous.
Just like you.
He had scammed you out of eighty thousand pounds. It was all a scam to get you out of his life. He wanted you gone.
When he'd kissed you, it had all been fake. You were just an object in the way of his happiness.
And now, you feel that pit at the bottom your stomach, just growing. The one that is always there to remind you that he's no longer yours. But soon that just becomes the normal. You learn to live with the pain. You learn to live with the constant feeling of loss and grief. You fake a smile as a courtesy to the people who surround you. You tell them what they want to hear, because you know that everyone will be better off that way. No one needs to know about the darkness that is constantly looming in your broken, dysfunctional heart.
No one needs to know.